


sunny nights

by oceanism



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, solangelo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:04:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanism/pseuds/oceanism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knew that something as mundane as laundry could lead to something like this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. awful singing + laundry rooms

**Author's Note:**

> OK SO I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS FOR THIS FANFIC BUT I STILL DON'T KNOW IF I'M GOING TO MAKE IT MULTI-CHAPTERED BECAUSE I ALWAYS END UP ABANDONING THEM. ALWAYS. Do you think I should give it a shot?
> 
> EDIT: I have decided to make this a multi-chaptered fic. Wish me luck!

Nico was pretty sure that no normal person did their laundry at two in the morning.

But then again, since when had he ever considered himself a ‘normal person,’ anyway?

Besides, it was really just a matter of preference. Like, you didn’t see him scoffing at the people who chose to do their laundry at ten in the morning or at six in the evening. Because it was a matter of preference, and he really didn’t give a shit about when other people wanted to do their laundry.

He wanted to do his laundry at two in the morning. So what? It wasn’t like he didn’t have any reasons. The contrary was true, actually. He had a lot of small reasons, which could be classified into three large reasons.

First of all was the lack of people. Based on his experience—actually zero regarding the dorm setting, but it was a similar environment to the apartment building that he and Hazel had resided in for the past year, overabundance of broke college kids and all—the only people you were likely to encounter in the building at two in the morning were half-asleep stragglers making their way to their rooms after a wild, alcohol-filled party. They could be annoying, but they usually weren’t coherent enough to initiate conversations, which was the only item in his criteria, really. It wasn’t like he had a vendetta against his fellow human beings or anything. Small talk was just something he found too inane to willingly participate in. Mostly because he sucked at it and always ended up saying the wrong thing.

Second was his messed-up sleep schedule, or rather, how doing his laundry sometime between the ungodly hours of one and four in the morning coincided with it. People branded him an insomniac, which was a term that he found inaccurate because it wasn’t like he suffered from sleep deprivation. Well, maybe he did, but what long-suffering college student didn’t, nowadays? It wasn’t like he was not capable of getting enough rest. He _was_. He just preferred to do it during the day, because he had a ‘bit’ of a night owl streak. ( _Like a vampire_ , Hazel had commented once, and Nico had grinned because he even _looked_ the part, _how amusing_.)

Third was because it was something to do. A distraction, for when the nights got a little too quiet and the lull invited too much introspection. Too much introspection was dangerous, because it taunted his mind with glimpses of yesterday: of Mythomagic and arcade games and the fading memory of Bianca’s smile. And the ache that it brought would only double with the realization that he was in the present, and the past was something that he couldn’t have anymore. It felt like getting stabbed in the chest, repeatedly and each time harder than the last, leaving him breathless, with tears running down his cheeks, and a deep sensation of _loss_ in his heart.

That was why he had the constant urge to fill the emptiness, because leaving it be would only bring a string of thoughts reaching so deep that it dragged him down with it.

Being a first-timer who had just arrived at the dorm six days ago and was fond of locking himself away from the world and staying in his room for hours on end, Nico wasn’t exactly familiar with the layout of the dorm. He knew, though, that people did their laundry in the basement and that most people on his floor were fresh from high school and probably still caught up in the new, shining reality that was college and freedom and parties—that mindset would soon fade, heh; should he feel bad about experiencing only a sense of _schadenfreude_?—but he himself was actually a sophomore. He’d spent his first year living in an apartment near the university with his half-sister, because they had applied too late and there had been no more rooms left. (Say what you want about Olympus U, but it was a quality university that was prestigious without being too exclusive, which made it an extremely popular choice with high school graduates. Applications were endless.)

Even back in their old residence, though, he had already exercised the habit of doing his laundry post-midnight, pre-sunrise. Breaking the habit when it suited him so much just didn’t make sense in the long run.

Frankly, the elevator was an absolute piece of rubbish. Riding it felt like a malfunction waiting to happen. Or maybe that was just Nico. He had never liked elevators. It had been a necessary evil back in the apartment building, because they had been on the ninth floor and the stairs had just looked plain _shady_. But he was only on the fourth floor this time, his laundry basket wasn’t heavy at all, and the stairs looked safe enough, so he ignored the elevator when he passed it and made his way down flight after flight.

An unpleasant discovery greeted him once he strode into the basement and rested his pile of laundry on the closest surface he could find—which, by the way, was the top of one of the washing machines standing in a row.

He had absolutely no idea how to do this.

Apparently, the washing machines back at the apartment building were vastly different from the ones found in the dorm or the one in the house that he and Hazel had shared with their father and step-mother.

Nico squinted.

Was it safe to just poke some buttons and see what happens?

Damn. Maybe he should have actually listened to the tour guide while he had been going on about what to do with the basement facilities.

He looked around—for a poster, instruction manual, anything that could help—but there was nothing. Then he scrutinized each machine, with the hope that if he looked at one long enough, he would have an epiphany and suddenly figure out what to do. But when nothing entered his mind after ten minutes, he gave up with a sigh and wondered what he was going to do now. He didn’t know. He hadn’t counted on the possibility that something like this might happen.

There was no way he was going to knock on someone’s door for instructions because, _hello,_ everyone was probably asleep (it was still first week; surely, not too many people were cramming their essays) and he didn’t know anyone well enough to pull some stunt like that. One logical path stood out, telling him to carry his dirty clothing and miserably drag himself back upstairs, then wait for people to wake up and ask someone how this whole thingamajig worked. He didn’t mind the physical strain—sure, it was a little winding, but not to the point that it drove him to exhaustion—but the thought of going up those stairs (or that elevator, ugh) with nothing to show for it except a pile of still-dirty-and-unwashed clothing wasn’t appealing at all.

So he just kind of stood there and stared at one of the machines like a dumbass. And perhaps he would have done that until the skies cleared and the sun rose, if not for the singing.

That awful, awful singing.

In fact, he wasn’t sure if the right word for it was _singing_. Calling it singing would be an insult to the people who did actual singing, honestly. It was just _bad_. Nails on a chalkboard, balloon against balloon, wailing of a dying cat, Justin Bieber kind of bad, except Bieber’s _voice_ was actually _decent_ and Nico just didn’t like his songs.

He settled on the word _noise_.

It managed to shatter him out of his idiocy-induced trance, traces of which dissolved as he focused all his willpower to keep his eardrums from rupturing. As the noise came closer with every second that passed, he was able to recognize it as a butchered, mangled, gone-through-the-meat-grinder version of some song that he remembered hearing on the radio a few days ago.

The elevator doors parted with a tiny ding, and the noise reached its crescendo.

_“I—I’m! Gonna swi—i—ng! From the chandeli—i—ier! FROM THE CHANDELI—I—I—IER—”_

Then it stopped. Hallelujah. But Nico’s relief didn’t last long, because awkward silence slowly filled the air. The transition from deafening to eerily quiet was jarring.

“Oh, my God,” a voice choked out. Nico felt a visceral sense of secondhand embarrassment. It was _painful_. He couldn’t see anything from the basement, but he was pretty sure that the sky was about to cry for them. Or maybe it had been crying already; God knows that noise was enough to trigger such a reaction. “I thought no one—I—dude—I’m so sorry. I thought no one was here.”

When used for speaking and not singing, the voice was actually _nice_. More than nice, really. Deep, but not too deep, if that made sense.

He knew that the prudent thing to do was to offer a consolation—something short and concise, perhaps an uninterested and unfazed, _‘It’s okay,’_ because something else might be seen as, God forbid, a window for short talk (though he couldn’t see how you were supposed to have small talk after _that_ )—but something else came out. It was a quiet, amused, “Clearly. I hope you didn’t wake the whole building up.” And as if that wasn’t enough, the corners of his lips twitched, and _maybe_ the motion would have turned into a full-blown grin if his willpower hadn’t repressed it fast enough.

Another choking noise came from the newcomer’s direction. Nico finally looked up, partly due to concern for the state of the other’s wellbeing—he was a bit antisocial, not  _heartless_ —but mostly because he was curious.

Thankfully, the stranger didn’t seem to be in any danger of choking to death anytime soon. It seemed that the little noise was just a part of his theatrics. He wasn’t screwed.

Not so thankfully, Nico _was._

Well, maybe not screwed, because he had never been one to swoon for merely aesthetic qualities, but close. Why, of all the people that he could have encountered in the basement at three in the morning, did he have to get someone who was actually good-looking?

Mr. I-Can’t-Sing-For-Shit was kissed by the sun. There was no other way to put it, really. Everything about him was warm and golden. The disheveled mop of blond hair brought to mind tropical sand. The shade of his skin summoned images of people sprawled on beach towels with tanning lotion on their backs, except his tan looked perfect and natural and he probably didn’t use tanning lotion. His eyes reminded Nico of the ocean.

It felt, oddly, like they were both spots of light and darkness, sunlight and shadows, in the otherwise neutral environment that was the basement.

Even from a distance of four meters, he could also tell that the blonde was flushed and that he probably wanted the ground to swallow him, right now. But he was smiling, too, and Nico had to marvel at his ability to bounce back and find humor in himself. It would probably take Nico like, three weeks to get over something like this.

“Don’t worry. There’ll be no angry mobs breaking down the basement door.” He had recovered enough to set his own laundry basket—it was a pale shade of yellow—on top of a washing machine, much like Nico had done with his own. “I didn’t start singing until I knew I was close enough to the basement that the people in the upper floors couldn’t hear me.” His tone was joking, but it sounded a little like he was convincing himself, too

“I don’t know. That was really loud.”

Then the stranger laughed. “Trust me, I’ve been doing this for a year. They never hear.”

The awkwardness and tension and the air had bled out of the room at this point.

“Two AM laundry trips, you mean?” He raised a brow, felt himself lean on the nearest machine in what he was pretty sure was a _horrifying_ show of relaxation. The realization that he was it was so simple for him to feel at ease—maybe that was because it was two in the morning and everything had a dreamlike, unreal sort of quality that made his limbs loose—made him feel strange and a little vulnerable. But he didn’t want to run away. “And I thought I was the only one.”

“Well, you’ll have to deal with me from now on. I have a strict laundry schedule, and I’m not changing it for you.” Then before Nico could say anything or back away or whatever, the stranger was two steps away, with an outstretched hand and another smile. “I’m Will Solace. Biology major.”

He accepted the handshake. It was firm without being overbearing, and Will’s hand was warm against his cold one.

It wasn’t like introducing himself was against his principles or anything. So this was fine.

“Nico di Angelo. Classics.”

He prepared himself for the onslaught of scoffing and snickering that usually went his way whenever he stated what he was studying. Sometimes it was because he just ‘didn’t look the part.’ Sometimes—and this was especially prevalent in the case of his adult relatives and/or the friends of his father—it was because being a Classics major was ‘impractical.’ (Even his father, who usually didn’t give a shit about what Nico did with his life—didn’t even blink an eye when he'd come out of the closet, really—had been disappointed that his son didn’t want to follow his footsteps into the world of law.) He expected the same reaction, especially from someone who majored in something as practical as biology.

But Will’s smile only grew wider. “Seriously? That means you get to study a lot of Greek, right?”

“Yeah…”

“That’s really cool. I love Greek mythology.”

That was unexpected.

“Really?” There was nothing in Will’s eyes but sincerity, which was honestly kind of enough to douse Nico’s skepticism. But he still added, “I hope you’re not saying that just to seem impressive.”

“ _Please—_ I used to read Greek myths for bedtime stories. I even wanted to be a Classics major, but that was before I learned first aid and decided I want to be a doctor. I still love Greek myths, though.”

It was eerie how easy it was to visualize a little, pint-sized Will poring over a book of Greek myths under the covers at night, tracing the letters with a flashlight. It was equally easy to imagine him in a white coat, looking all mature and doctor-y. It was so easy that it was disturbing.

“The myths can get a little inappropriate for kids, but I’m not one to talk. I only really got into it when Mythomagic came out, though.” It was strange, volunteering information so freely like this. Especially about Mythomagic. He usually didn't like talking about it, but his own actions failed to repel himself. It felt like a catharsis of sorts, but he knew that it wouldn't last.

“I’ve never played Mythomagic before.”

Horror eclipsed his features. He didn’t bother trying to hide it. “You _haven’t?_ ”

Will looked amused. “Nope.” He had the nerve to pop the _P_.

“I can’t believe you. That’s it. This conversation is over.” But the corners of his lips twitched a little too much—it was impossible to quell completely, dammit—for it to be convincing. He turned away, focusing on the washing machine on which his basket of clothes rested. “And I would leave, but I still have to do my laundry using a machine that I have no idea to use.”

Did he just say that?

Oh, my God. No.

“You don’t know how?” Will’s voice came from behind him. It was light and lacking judgment, a mere inquiry to the core, but nevertheless, Nico felt his neck burn. The warmth spread from his neck to his ears, to his cheeks, and he was suddenly glad that they weren’t facing each other because he probably looked like a tomato right now.

This was really embarrassing.

He felt Will move so that he was facing Nico’s machine, too, and risked a glance. There was a small smile on the blonde’s face, but it didn’t seem like he was going to make any belittling comments about Nico’s apparent ineptitude. Then Nico rebuked himself, because _idiot, you literally just met each other_ , and he knew him too little to make any assumptions like that.

But then again, he wasn’t the type to tolerate conversations half as long as the one they were already having during the first meeting. He wasn’t the type to volunteer information so readily and, well, play along just like that. It just felt easy with Will. It wasn’t Nico’s fault, _really_ —he was willing to bet that Will could make anyone comfortable if he put his mind to it.

It made him angry, kind of. He couldn’t believe he was being so _open._

Will cuffed his shoulder. Nico almost jumped at the contact. He rarely got touched by anyone, and the unusual tingle left electricity in its wake. His mouth opened to snap at Will for touching him so _casually,_ but the blonde spoke first. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

His cheeks felt hot. “I’m _not!_ ”

Will was rolling his eyes. Nico could _feel_ it. (He didn’t, really, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around and the blonde _was_ rolling his eyes.) “Look. Just consider us even. I mean, you heard me sing. I’m pretty sure I take the cake for the more embarrassing experience, and it’s not like I’m going to tell anyone that you don’t know how to handle a washing machine.”

Nico didn’t know what to say to that.

“…Okay?”

“I know how to handle a washing machine,” he mumbled, which was sort of a _yes_ , and Will seemed to get that because he smiled that infuriatingly huge grin of his again.

“Great. Did you bring your ID?”

“No.” Nico furrowed his brows. Why would he bring his ID to the basement?

“I expected as much. It’s okay. You can use mine.” Then Will reached into his back pocket, produced an ID card, and handed it to Nico, who tried not to think about how it was still warm. A one by one picture of Will’s face beamed at him from the corner of the card, surrounded by a white background and a bunch of tiny details that his eyes flitted over. Reading it would feel too much like stalking, somehow, and Nico did _not_ stalk people.

“Why do I need an ID?”

Will gestured at the elevated section of the washing machine’s gleaming surface. There was a small screen at the very end, currently blank and bordered by buttons, and beside it was a narrow, vertical slit. “You see that opening? You’re supposed to swipe your card there. It’s how you get charged for using the machine. Then after that it’s history; you _did_ say that you know how to handle a washing machine. Tell me at least that you know to separate the whites and stuff.” His voice was teasing.

“ _Of course I can._ ”

He was hit full force by the sheer _simplicity_ of it all. It was almost anticlimactic. The weight of his own stupidity and the present incredulity that he felt over the situation crushed him like a landslide. How had he not figured it out?

Then again, he would still have had to go upstairs to get his ID.

The implications of Will’s card sitting on his palm chose that moment to strike, jolting Nico out of his thoughts.

“I’m not letting you pay for my laundry.”

This time, he actually saw Will roll his eyes. The motion looked exactly like he’d imagined. “Are you really going to argue with me about this?” And the question sounded more authoritative than inquisitive.

He took it as a challenge and extended his arm until the card was approximately two inches from the other’s nose. “Take it.”

Will pushed the ID card back. “ _You_ take it.”

Apparently, he was also stubborn. What were they, twelve? Nico scowled and repeated his earlier statement: “I’m not letting you pay for my laundry.”

“What are you going to do, go back to your room and get your ID?” Will raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. It was silent for a moment, before he added, “It’s no biggie. Seriously. If it makes you feel better, you can pay for me next time.”

Nico considered the offer, before slowly letting the hand clutching the card hang limp at his side. The firm tone that Will said the statement with made it sound too much like an ultimatum, and he was loathe to agree to the terms, but it did make sense. He sighed. _“Fine.”_

Not wanting to seem ungrateful (because even though he hadn’t asked nor wanted in the first place, the blonde was still helping him out), he added, “And thanks. I guess.”

Will smiled at him, and he smiled back. Just a little bit; not nearly as wide and lasting for less than a second, but it was a smile nevertheless.

As he—unwillingly—swiped the card on the first washing machine's opening, Will spoke up again. With how annoyingly cheerful his voice was, it was like the earlier argument had never happened. “It’s weird, though. I didn’t take you for a freshman.”

“...That’s because I’m _not_ , Solace.”

It was approximately an hour and twenty minutes later, when Nico was folding his clothes on the bed in his dorm room and replaying the previous incident in his mind—not like he would admit to ever doing the latter—that he realized that he had basically agreed to pay for the next time. _The next time._ There was going to be a next time.

There was going to be a next time and he sort of wasn't dreading it. That was nice.


	2. spilled coke + chance encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time they meet, and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will-centric, with half of it focusing on him and his friends. Very little action. It’s also like, really all over the place. I must apologize. It’s always been kind of hard to get in the rhythm of writing multi-chaptered fics for me (it took me like, an entire week to write this chapter), but I finally got this written down and it feels great.

Will was not a liar.

And he would be lying to himself if he said that he hadn’t been particularly observant lately. Saying otherwise would be against his principles. Literally, every time he entered a room, his gaze would travel from one end to the other in search of a glimpse of the dark-haired companion from last Saturday’s laundry trip. Never did he actually spot him; and it felt a little like Nico was a reality that existed solely within the boundaries of the basement in the middle of the night.

He would also be lying if he said that he wasn’t looking forward to the following Saturday. At the same time, he was filled with a whispering sort of anxiety that coiled itself into a small, but heavy ball in his gut. What if Nico wouldn’t show up? Thoughts like these made him impatient and jittery, and he just wanted Saturday to come so that he could get all this insecurity over with.

It wasn’t unusual for Will to make friends easily, but something about Nico made him want to see the other as much as possible. Maybe it was because he had this ephemeral quality about him that made you feel like he could disappear into the shadows at any moment. Maybe it was because he was fun to talk to if he actually participated in the conversation. Maybe it was because he was really cute.

Even his friends noticed that there was something unusual about the way he’d been carrying himself lately. It got to the point where he found himself being roped into an interrogation during dinner on Thursday night.

That particular Thursday night was one of the rare evenings in which everyone in Will’s circle of friends had free time. Evenings like this had been more frequent during the first few months of college, but as time went on, instances in which their schedules coincided became scarcer. Usually, at least one of them had some test to study for, a project to work on, or something like that.

Lou Ellen scowled at the selection of food displayed before them. Her hair was twisted into a high bun. The occasional green strand streaked through the pile of dark brown. “Thursday is meatloaf day. I can’t believe I forgot. This is _crap_.”

Will glanced and couldn’t help but agree. Then his gaze shifted from the food to survey the rest of the room. The movement was almost unconscious; sort of involuntarily, like blinking and the beating of one’s heart, except he was aware that he was doing it. He just couldn’t stop. This was ridiculous.

“You’re so picky.” The voice belonged to Jake. Will readied himself for the inevitable debate that would follow.

“You only say that because you’d eat anything!”

At least she lasted three seconds this time.

A heavy sigh drew Will’s attention away from the arguing pair. It came from Kayla, who was staring at the two with a look that could only be classified as fond exasperation. Maybe it was because they hadn’t seen each other in seventy-two hours, but he was suddenly struck by how pretty she was, even though they had known each other for forever. Lou Ellen was cute, sure, but Kayla was _pretty_ —beautiful, even, with her freckled skin and big blue eyes and how her strawberry blonde hair always stayed in place even during the most stressful situations.

He found her good-looking, sure, but he’d never had a crush on her. Most of their mutual guy friends growing up had, at one point of their lives. But he hadn’t. Not in elementary school, where the boys would either pull at her hair or shyly offer to share the contents of the packed lunches with her. Not in middle school, where the boys would glance up whenever she entered the room, or try to pass her notes during class. (She never returned those.) Not in high school, when guys—and occasionally, girls—would ask her out while she opened her locker and get offended whenever she refused, which was always. One time, a boy she had turned down cornered Will and asked him if he had ever seen Kayla naked, because they were so close, and if Will could send him a picture sometime.

Will was usually a pacifist, but he’d never punched anyone so hard in his entire life.

Maybe it was because they had been constants in each other’s lives ever since they were born. Her parents were like his parents, and his parents were like hers. He’d seen her successfully ride a bike for the first time. He’d been present during her first ever recital. He’d been there to lend his shoulder when her first and only voice teacher died from cancer. And she’d been at his side the moment he nursed a fallen bird back to health. She’d been with him the time he had slipped from one of the trees at the park near their houses. She’d been with him through his parents’ divorce, and had cried almost as much as he had. There was no one in the world who knew him better than she did.

Kayla was like a sister to him. He’d chalked up his lack of romantic attraction to this, but now, he was starting to wonder if there was a different—no, _another_ reason.

His mind flashed to a pair of dark brown eyes.

But it didn’t make sense. He’d never been attracted to guys before (he’d had girlfriends, but no serious ones, and not a single relationship that lasted over a month), and it wasn’t even something that he’d considered up until now, and _wait,_ what, did he just—

Oh God, no. Please.

Three years of not paying anyone the slightest bit of romantic attention, and suddenly, his thoughts were being consumed by someone he had met only a few days ago, and making him have a sexuality crisis. Unbelievable.

(Seriously, when did he jump from ‘ _Wow, what a cool guy,’_ to _this?_ )

Will groaned.

“Hey morons, pipe that down,” Kayla said. Will opened his eyes. He hadn’t even realized that he was closing them.

“Verbally abusive,” he mumbled with a small smirk, knowing full well that she could hear him, and that he was trying to distract himself.

She ignored him. “I’ll treat you to that new restaurant downtown if you shut up.”

This caught Lou Ellen and Jake’s attention. Both immediately straightened and did a snappy salute, motions so synchronized that it was almost comical. “Yes, ma’am!”

Will knew that he was bossy, but Kayla was even bossier. At this point, he wasn’t sure which one had influenced the other into possessing the trait while growing up.

“Cecil, are you coming? Cecil!”

Upon finally hearing the sharp tone, Cecil’s head jerked up like he’d been slapped. Kayla rolled her eyes then suspiciously eyed his phone, which he’d been too invested in to pay attention to his surroundings. “Geez, you’re even worse than Will these days.”

_“Excuse me?”_

She just grinned at him before flicking Jake on the shoulder. “You can drive, right?”

The restaurant was just the right distance from the university; far, but not too far, and it only took fifteen minutes for them to arrive. It was all polished wood and giant glass windows, with the occasional rock detailing. The name written in tidy script on the sign that hung above the establishment was something that Will couldn’t pronounce, but he was pretty sure it was Italian. It somehow straddled the line between classy and cozy, which he thought was a pretty impressive feat, but he had no time to dwell on the excellent first impression because he was being dragged inside, courtesy of Lou Ellen.

They picked a table in the corner, which was secluded enough and at the same time offered them a good view of the entire restaurant, especially the entrance. Will picked up one of the menus on the table and skimmed the choices. The table was quiet for a few moments, before Kayla finally interrupted the silence.

“I’m done choosing. You guys ready to order? We’re getting pizza for takeout, so don’t order that yet.”

A chorus of agreement resounded in reply, broken only by Lou Ellen’s, “I’ll get the same thing you’re having. I can’t pick anything.” And Will could have sworn that he saw Jake open his mouth right at that moment, probably to make another smartass comment, but then Kayla looked at him and he snapped it shut immediately.

Said blonde raised her arm, attracting a waiter’s attention in no time. She dictated her order with a warm tone and a smile, and it was almost hard to keep for Will to keep himself from raising a brow at her nice demeanor. Sometimes he forgot that Kayla was actually really nice and sweet when she was dealing with people that she didn’t consider her close friends. Ironic.

“Lasagna and iced tea,” he said when it was his turn to state his order. He mostly picked that because he couldn’t pronounce most of the options on the menu. It felt like a safe choice, okay? The waiter nodded before asking them if that was all, and almost reluctantly turned around. When he was gone, Kayla pounced immediately.

“So. Two people have been really weird lately.” She narrowed her eyes at him and Cecil.

Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on with whose point of view you surveyed the situation—the latter had better survival instincts. “I’m going to the bathroom!” he said, eyes wide open and color bleeding out of his face.

Will swore that he had never seen someone stand up and walk away so fast, and he was about to follow his lead when a hand clamped on his arm, as if the owner had been able to read his mind. It was Lou Ellen, who proceeded to jeer, “Coward!” and he wasn’t sure if she was referring to him, or to the escapee.

“And the restroom’s that way!” Kayla added. Cecil facepalmed and did a one-eighty. She watched him find his way to where the men’s bathroom was located with a frown, and when she spoke there was a hint of concern in her voice. “What’s up with him?”

“You think we should check?” Lou Ellen turned to her. The hold on Will’s arm did not slacken the slightest bit. Unfortunate.

“You’ve known him longer. What do you think?”

A thoughtful look eclipsed the brunette’s features. “He’s just hiding something. I don’t think it’s something bad. He’ll tell us eventually, really.”

“Huh. Well, fine. We still have another person to interrogate, anyway.” In unison, his three remaining friends shifted towards him, shark-like grins on their lips. He shuddered.

“You’re all creepy. Let go of me, Lou Ellen. I’m not going anywhere.” Even if he tried, they would be ready; Kayla and her uncanny knowledge of how his gears worked, Lou Ellen and her totally magical reflexes and ability to somehow know what a person was going to do before they were going to do it (she had magical powers, he swore on it), and Jake, who had been a football star before he decided that he preferred tinkering with objects and working on blueprints that no one else could understand. He didn’t stand a chance.

Lou Ellen relented, but her hands stayed close.

Jake said, “You’ve been super distracted lately. It’s weird.”

“Damn you, I wanted to say that!”

“Did you guys rehearse this beforehand or something?”

“Not really distracted. At least, not fully.” Kayla tilted her head. “It’s like every time he has an important exam coming up and he’s studying. He becomes so focused on his pile of medical books that he forgets to pay attention to anything else.” By the smile on her face, he knew that she knew that her diagnosis was spot-on.

Jake made a noise of agreement and Lou Ellen nodded. “Yeah! That’s definitely it. I think it’s because he’s secretly dating someone, who’s with me?”

What the hell? Is that what people automatically assumed?

He raised his hands, trying to be as placating about this situation as possible. “Guys, guys, it’s nothing like that. There’s going to be a thing in the hospital next week, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m just nervous.”

Technically, it was only a half-lie. There _was_ going to be a thing at the hospital, but he wasn’t that nervous about it. He’d been helping out at hospitals ever since he decided that he wanted to be a doctor. Though, to be honest, the tasks given to him had been pretty simple and usually not medical-related, and the experience as a whole was more of a chance to get used to the hospital environment and gather advice from his parents’ coworkers. Sure, the event was a matter of anticipation, but he’d even been to that specific hospital loads of times because his dad had worked there once so it wasn’t as big a deal as he wanted his friends to think that it was.

Unfortunately, they didn’t fall for it.

“If it were as important as you’re making it sound, you’d be burying yourself under your books right now. I’m your roommate, Will. I’d know.” Jake pointed out.

His brain rushed for a counterargument. “What if I’m just trying to be as laid back as everyone thinks I am?”

“Two holes. One, since when did you ever care about what people think about you? Two, you’re pretty much as laid back as people think you are. Sure, you get all intense and focused whenever important exams are near, but you don’t freak out or panic. You just kind of block everything out except your studies, but you’re just as chill.”

“Can we not talk about this? Because the personality analysis is making me vaguely uncomfortable. I feel like I’m getting dissected.”

Kayla leaned forward and patted his shoulder in an unconvincing show of sympathy. “We won’t if you’ll tell us what’s going on.” Then, more seriously, “C’mon, is something wrong? We won’t force you if you don’t want to talk about it, but if there’s something up, we want to know. We just want to help, really.” Lou Ellen and Jake both nodded.

It was seldom for him to find himself on this side of the interrogation. Usually, it was him who persisted for information. “This sort of investment in your friend’s life is unhealthy.” But the words were half-hearted and they all knew it.

“Speak for yourself.”

Will shrugged, trying to keep his features composed. For a moment, he considered telling them about the whole Nico business, but something stopped him. It didn’t feel right; for some reason, he felt an inexplicable need to keep it to himself. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just distracted, so you can rest in peace.”

“What’s got you all distracted, though?” Lou Ellen nudged his side, a teasing grin resting on her lips.

“Nothing important.” His dismissal was too quick for it to be believable. Kayla raised a brow, but before she could say anything, he hastened to add, “Where’s Cecil? He’s taking too long.”

She rolled her eyes. Lou Ellen shoved him lightly. Jake narrowly avoided being a secondary victim to said shove before standing up. “I’m going to check on him. Someone has to make sure that he hasn’t fallen into the toilet or something.”

Will was going to stand up as well, but then the door opened, and in walked Nico di Angelo.

His hair, which had been loose the last time they had seen each other, was tied in a half-ponytail. Instead of the hoodie and shorts from their first meeting, he wore a black shirt and jeans that looked just a little too tight. Will gulped, feeling like his limbs were frozen, and so was his gaze, because he couldn’t look away.

He looked so different, but he also looked the same, and just as real as he had been last Saturday night.

The blonde didn’t even realize that he had been staring until someone flicked him on the forehead. He rubbed the spot before sending the perpetrator a glare that was just slightly unfocused. “What was that for?”

“For ignoring us. Your food’s in front of you, by the way. I bet you didn’t even notice.”

There was a catlike curve to Kayla’s lips as her gaze slid from him to Nico, who was now seated in a nearby table. A girl that Will remembered seeing around campus several times before was across him. She was pretty, with skin the color of coffee beans and curly dark hair that curved around her face like a picture frame. He couldn’t see well enough to confirm anything because she was facing slightly away from him, but his memory told him that her eyes were a very bright brown. He watched her say something that made Nico laugh more freely than any of Will’s jokes ever had.

Inexplicably, unreasonably, his chest tightened.

_The girlfriend…?_

Damn it. Trust the one guy he actually feels attraction towards to be (probably) straight _and_ (very likely) taken.

Perhaps he had been too naïve to believe that a guy like _that_ was actually single.

“Will! Goddammit.” Another flick.

Will groaned, bowed his head, and almost landed on his plate of lasagna. Then Lou Ellen chose that moment to scare Cecil, who had gone quiet again; his friend released a shriek and dropped the glass of coke that he’d been holding. It landed on Will’s shirt, missing his pants by mere centimeters.

“Fuck.”

After warding away a slew of _Shit, Will, I’m so sorry_ ’s, he dragged himself to the bathroom, feeling twenty shades of gross and kind of miserable and dull, to be honest. Cecil had offered to come with him, stating that it was his duty because it was his fault. (Well, mostly Lou Ellen’s, but she couldn’t very well go to the boy’s bathroom, could she? Not like that would stop her, though.) But Will had declined on the grounds that they wouldn’t be able to scrub much if two of them worked at the same time. But it was really because he needed some time alone. Being cornered by his friends was exhausting, and seeing Nico had been a shock.

Thankfully, the bathroom was clean and empty. He positioned himself in front of one of the sinks and held his head in his hands.

He was in a restaurant bathroom. There was a growing stain on his white shirt. Anyone could walk in at any moment. It wasn’t the ideal circumstance for introspection, but the room was quiet, and for perhaps the first time that night, he found himself able to sort out his thoughts.

It was unbelievable and almost as surreal as last Saturday’s events, except this was undeniably in real life. Just when he had almost given up on seeing Nico again before laundry day, the boy showed up in all his former, dark-washed, shadowy glory, with a pretty girl; he shocked Will’s system, unbalanced him by doing nothing except appearing out of nowhere like one of Lou Ellen’s magic tricks.

Then there was the whole thing with his friends and their appreciated, but currently unsolicited concern. Will wasn’t used to keeping secrets from them, but when interrogated earlier, his tongue had frozen at the mere thought of telling them about the dark-haired boy and the events that had transpired in their absence. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t because he was afraid that they might ostracize him for feeling what was possibly—read: probably—be the pull of attraction towards someone of the same gender—in fact, Jake and Lou Ellen themselves were openly bisexual—and he couldn’t think of anything else that he might feel the slightest bit ashamed of, not even the singing fiasco, so why? Why did he want to keep Nico a secret?

In the end, he chalked it up to his own indecision. This was something that he needed to figure out first by himself, before he could even consider the idea of telling anyone about it. Even if that anyone was someone that he would trust with his life.

The sound of the bathroom door interrupted the free-flow of his thoughts. Nico di Angelo walked in. It hit Will with a pang of déjà vu, with all its similarities to the previous scene that had distracted him back in the restaurant. Except this time, they were alone—but like before, he found himself staring.

He could tell when exactly the other boy recognized him. It happened with a facial expression: brows rising, eyes widening with naked surprise. But it was quickly shuttered away by whatever hiding mechanism it was that Nico’s body possessed.

“Hi,” Will said, lamely. He pointed at himself. “You remember me, right?”

Nico leaned on the now-closed door. Whatever he gone to the bathroom for was apparently set aside for the temporary motions of acknowledging Will’s presence. He felt indescribably flattered. “Solace.”

“Yeah.” He tried to cover his sudden hypersensitivity to everything with a laugh. Goddammit. “So, you’re stalking me now, huh?”

The boy blinked at him slowly for a few moments, before releasing a snort. “You wish I were.” And just like that, the awkward tension seeped into the cracks in the wall and under the door and through the little window in the far end of the room. Like middle ground, the banter stabilized them. It was one familiar thing in a series of unfamiliar ones, and it seemed to ease them both. “What happened to your shirt?”

Ah. Will’s eyes flickered down to find the stain. He had completely forgotten about it. Now it seemed much darker and uglier than ever. “I saw you walk in and spilled my drink on myself.”

Nico did that slow blink thing again. Endearing. It was a motion that Will was slowly starting to associate with Nico, and at the same time it was something that he shouldn’t have even noticed. But he was looking closely, and notice he did. “Seriously?”

“Nah.” Will grinned. “My friend spilled his drink on me. I was going to try and scrub it out, but I got distracted. This sink is fascinating.”

Sarcasm. They had only met twice, but it seemed like Nico was already rubbing off on him.

Said acquaintance made a _tsk_ noise before walking forward and turning the faucet two sinks farther from Will’s own. He squeezed some liquid soap on his palms. “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing that shirt in your laundry on Saturday.”

Hearing the confirmation that there _was_ going to be something on Saturday made his heart soar to new heights that he shouldn’t have even been able to reach. With quite a number of anxieties dissolving, the coil in his stomach felt just a little lighter, and he could do little more than smile again. “You’re going to pay,” he reminded, “so don’t forget your ID.”

Nico rolled his eyes and, done with washing his hands, turned off the faucet. So he was the type who washed his hands before eating. Will silently approved. “I won’t.” He walked towards the door before sparing one last glance over his shoulder. “I have to go. Hazel’s waiting.”

_Hazel—ah, right. The girlfriend. Date. Whatever._

“Yeah.” He hoped to whatever higher power was up there and watching over him that his disappointment did not show on his features. If Nico noticed anything, he made no indication. Will took it as a sign that his prayers had been answered. “See you Saturday.”

“See you Saturday. Good luck with that stain.”

And with that, Nico was out the door again. Will found himself staring at the spot where Nico had stood, and took a deep breath.

Words were technically nothing more than letters strung together, but they managed to be more than that, and it was pretty amazing. It was amazing how they could inspire emotions; how three little words _(see you Saturday)_ coming from Nico di Angelo’s mouth could send Will to new levels of giddiness. They weren’t even the phrase people thought up whenever the phrase ‘three little words’ was brought up, but he didn’t care.

This, he told himself, was more normal than not; Nico was possibly one of the most attractive people Will had ever met, and their meeting had been an unusual one, succeeding in burning his image on Will’s eyelids. To top it off, he was actually nice (from what Will had seen, at least), despite the ever-present layer of snark and sarcasm. But he was a guy, and he had a girlfriend. Nothing would happen, but that was okay. Will knew that he was more than content with the idea of possibly becoming Nico’s friend. It was just a little crush. He would get over it. He already had the makings of a plan.

Cases like these were common, after all. Sometimes, if you just met someone and saw only little glimpses of them, you ended up attaching yourself to the positive image that they projected. Your affection would, then, focus on the idealized version of them that lived in your head. It was one of the more likely explanations to what was happening to him. One of the ways to dispel something like that was to get to know them enough to realize that you weren’t romantically suited for each other. Clinging to his theory, Will began to scrub at the stain, perhaps a little too vigorously.

It was going to be fine. This crush would go away in its own time.

-

Nothing changed for the next two months.

No, scratch that; a lot of things changed. Meetings that he initially thought would be confined to the basement extended to the rest of the dorm (“That looks heavy. Let me help you carry it; where’s your dorm room again?”), then the campus (“You’re attending that seminar, too? Cool. We can go together.”), and then one day he was standing in line at the movie theater and the realization bulldozed him out of nowhere like a car traveling at a hundred kilometers per hour. He was at the movie theater, and he was about to watch the new Mythomagic movie with Nico di Angelo in a few minutes.

As friends, of course.

The process was gradual, but eventually, Nico became a fixture in Will’s life. He could do little more than hope that he was just as much of a constant in the boy’s life as well.

Things were rapidly spiraling out of his control.

Every single time he thought that, _hey, I think it’s fading_ , Nico would say something adorable or shoot Will one of his rare smiles. It pinned him down and sent jolts of electricity down his spine, and then suddenly, he would have to refute his earlier thought.

Every single moment spent with him only added an item to the list of _Why Nico di Angelo is the Cutest Person Alive_. Even the arguments they had—and there were _many_ —drew him closer, through the strength of things like _Hey, I’m sorry, okay? Can we just forget that and talk again?_ and _I’m sorry, too. That was stupid._

He considered staying away, but that was something he couldn’t do. Nico was a magnet and Will was a piece of iron. But it was more than that; the blonde just wasn’t the type of person who would drop someone, especially not because of something like _this_ , whatever _this_ was. And especially not when said someone was Will’s—dare he say it?— _friend_.

(Though despite the new familiarity between them, Will didn’t ask about the girlfriend, and Nico didn’t bring her up.)

It wasn’t a difficult realization: his crush wasn’t disappearing; it was _growing_.

He was constantly toeing the line between wanting to invite Nico over to his dorm room to watch bad movies because the other boy’s steady stream of scathing comments was entertaining and his company was simply _comfortable_ , and wanting to invite Nico over to his dorm room because he just wanted to stare at Nico’s face and possibly kiss him. He thought of what he had said all those weeks ago. That he would be fine, and his crush would vanish with enough exposure. A part of him still believed it.

Maybe Will was a liar, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This did not go as planned. Like, it conformed to the outline, but I was hoping that I could make the friendship dynamic between them last a bit longer. Like, a slow build and stuff. But Will just kept on writing himself and I just kind of went with the flow and ahhh this happened. But at least he still values Nico’s friendship more than the possibility of romance. Does Nico share the sentiment? Find out in the next chapter? The next chapter, which is actually finished and waiting to be edited? I wrote it all yesterday with half of this chapter. I was on a roll. All you need to know is that it’s full of needless drama and angst that I’m pretty sure I was not able to pull off, because I have no idea how to write angst. This plot is moving too fast for me; I mean, there’s already conflict in the next chapter and we haven’t even really established their friendship yet. But it’s a short story, so I should have expected it I guess. Mmm.  
> P.S. I apologize for this lengthy author’s note.  
> P.P.S. We never do find out what Cecil’s secret is. Only I know. B)  
> P.P.P.S. Do you think I should also post this on [my tumblr](http://yufuen.tumblr.com)? Like, it's kinda tedious. Idk.


	3. tearing walls + misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nico withdraws, under the belief that he has let his guard down too much, and a misunderstanding ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I don't know how to write angst orz and this isn't proofread properly plus this has conflict and I want to slap it I'm very nervous about it

Nico wasn’t quite sure how it happened.

All he knew was that slowly, Will had managed to creep into his life, much like how sunlight filtered itself through the curtains drawn over the window of his dorm room every time the sun rose and he was still awake. (He really needed to get those replaced.) At first, their meetings were limited to the basement, and he associated them with the scent of detergent and the sound of the laundry machine as it spun on and on. And then one night, Will offered to help him carry a particularly heavy batch of laundry back up his dorm room. Nico remembered declining his offer, but like always, Will ended up helping anyway, though he did complain about Nico’s inclination to taking the stairs. (“What’s the purpose of a perfectly good elevator if you’re not even going to use it?”) He guessed that that was when it all really began.

He could even recognize the sound of Will’s knock now, and if that wasn’t a symptom of overexposure to a certain bundle of sunshine (because that was what Will was, and he was blinding), then Nico didn’t know what was.

Initially, the blonde came over with offers like, “I’m holding a study session at my dorm room later. You should come.” And most of the time, Nico would reply with something like, “You’re a Bio major. I’m pretty sure we have a different curriculum.” And Will would pout, but at the same time it would feel like he’d already known that that was going to be the nature of Nico’s response. (And then Nico would wonder, why would he even bother going two floors up just to ask if he already knew what the answer was going to be?)

But sometimes, he would say yes to an offer, and it was worth it if only to see Will’s face light up with surprise and happiness. Nico didn’t know why Will became so happy whenever he gave in. No, it was more than that. He just couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t understand, why someone would want to spend time with him, of all people, but Will was always there and he was persistent, and eventually Nico got tired of questioning it all and decided to just go with the flow. He remembered the first time he’d finally accepted one of Will’s invitations.

“Let’s have a movie marathon.” Will had looked at him beseechingly, and he’d looked like he would even get on his knees if Nico asked him to. Nico did not.

“Okay.”

“I know you’re going to say no, but— _wait, what?_ ”

The sight of Will looking so confused and hopeful at the same time had made his lips twitch with amusement. “I said _okay_.”

Will had stared at him for a few moments, before a huge grin broke out on his face and he did a fist pump and a series of even dorkier movements. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you finally agreed. This is momentous.”

Nico had rolled his eyes. “Shut up, or I’ll take it back.”

“Please don’t.”

The movies Will had picked ended up being tremendously horrible, and tearing them to pieces had been very enjoyable. Conversation then eventually evolved—or devolved—into a debate, in which Will defended his choice of movies as Nico disagreed. It only ceased when Will’s roommate, a buff guy named Jake Mason that Nico had never talked to before, walked in. Nico had practically flown off Will’s bed and out the door, but not before proclaiming that he was never going to have a movie marathon with Will again.

He ate his words three times after that incident, because he ended up accepting two of Will’s movie marathon invitations again, for some reason. And for reasons even more unknown than the former, he even found himself inviting Nico for a movie marathon once.

Nico remembered trying to ignore the way Will clutched his arm as they sat on the floor of his dorm room and watched all the _Saw_ movies.

Their constant presence in each other’s lives manifested itself in other ways. Sometimes people would stop him on his way to the vending machine or class or whatever to ask him if he had seen Will lately or if he had any idea where Will could be, and more often than not, Nico had an answer. Sometimes, when he couldn’t find something—usually a pen or one of his notebooks, and one time, even a hoodie—he would knock on the door of Will’s dorm room and ask if he had left the lost object there. The answer was usually positive.

Will’s smile was all things bright and sunny as he waved goodbye. Nico watched him walk in the elevator, looking way too pleased with himself, before going back inside his own dorm room.

“Can you believe that dork, Bianca?” he mumbled, and now that there was nothing stopping him, he felt a silly grin spread across his lips. “He insisted on ‘walking me home,’ just because that theater lady thought that we were a couple, which was apparently hilarious. What a weirdo, right? But it’s nice to have someone who’s not too affected by things like that.” He paused. “I haven’t told him yet, though.”

He could almost imagine the proud smile that Bianca would wear. He could almost hear her voice, and this time it offered comfort instead of the usual ache. _I’m glad you’re finally making some friends, fratellino._

Friend—was that what he was?

 _Yeah,_ he would reply. _I’m glad, too._

The worst thing about it was that he meant it, too. And the thought sent something that felt _more_ than anxiety mingle with the rare happiness in his veins. If Bianca were here, she would be able to read him without a problem, and she would frown. _Don’t you dare, Nico._ And then she would hug him, and probably blame herself for the negativity that clung even to his happy thoughts of Will and, _gulp_ , friendship. He didn’t know what she would say next, because most of the time, she’d always known what he needed to hear even before he knew it himself, but now that she wasn’t here, he had no way to tell.

It would be fine, he finally told himself during one sleepless night. It would be fine as long as he didn’t let Will get too close.

(Because you only got hurt if you let people get too close, and frankly, he was sick of getting his heart stomped on and feeling a crippling anxiety that could never be assuaged. He was content with the very limited list of people that had managed to scale his walls, people like Hazel, and Reyna, and Jason, and he kept even them at a certain distance. Adding another person to the list was not on his agenda, and somehow, he knew that Will Solace had the potential to be more destructive than the others, the most. Like the sun.)

As to what he hadn’t told Will yet, even he wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. They saw each other a lot, but they both knew that he was deliberately keeping things from the other. Will was so _open_. Nico knew that his parents were divorced and he’d lived with his mom before college, but he’d also visited his dad frequently. He had two younger sisters and a younger brother, though all of them were step-siblings on his dad’s side. His mom had not remarried, but she was currently dating someone. He had a beagle named Sunshine waiting for him at home.

It made Nico feel guilty.

But he wasn’t ready to open up yet, and Will didn’t ask. It was pathetic, but he couldn’t think of anything from his past that wasn’t associated with something sad, and he wasn’t quite ready to dump all his baggage on Will yet. And if he had his way, he would never be. God knows doing so would probably drive Will away from him. And Nico didn’t want him to go.

People thought they could handle him, but they always left him when they realized just how damaged he really was. They always left.

No one wanted broken toys, after all.

-

“Hey, Nico.”

“Yeah?”

During that brief period of time after Will’s last class of the day ended and the first of Nico’s evening classes began, they were alone in Will’s room. It was an arrangement that seemed to occur more and more lately. They weren’t doing anything, exactly; just sitting, when Will broke the silence. “You never tell me anything about yourself.”

The words made him freeze. Anything but this conversation. Oh, great. Fucking great. It was coming. He’d always known that something like this would happen, because it always happened, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon. _Calm down, Nico, shit. You might be overreacting._

He weighted his words, before finally settling on a safe, ambiguous, “What do you mean?”

If Will noticed how the volume of his voice had dropped, he didn’t say anything. “I mean what I said. You never tell me anything about yourself.” He said it so casually, clearly not understanding what he was asking of Nico.

This always happened. In a relationship, something was to be expected from both parties; something was to be expected from _him_ , and when he failed to deliver (he always did), the other person would get tired and drop him, like everyone else did. He often felt pathetic, wallowing in his self-pity. He wanted to feel angry, because who were they to expect something from him? Who were they to make him feel like he wasn’t enough? But then he knew that he was being unreasonable, that he was the one who was in the wrong, because you couldn’t just take and take and not give. That was not how life worked.

And yet, he couldn’t stop feeling the way he did.

Nico blinked. “I do.” He was careful to let confusion bleed into his voice, like he had no idea what the other was talking about. “I tell you about things that happen. It’s just not a lot. My life is pretty boring.” And it was even more boring before he’d met Will, but he wasn’t about to go around saying that out loud. Besides, he wasn’t sure if that was necessarily a good thing. He’d been content back then, maybe a bit lonely, but just a little.

“I don’t mean that.” Something frustrated ate at Will’s previously casual expression. “I mean…” Nico glanced at him, taking in the way that he waved his arms around as he tried to find the words to articulate his thoughts. “You don’t tell me about, I don’t know, things like your family. Family, friends, like, other than me, where you came from, stuff like that.” Will was looking at him now, and it was difficult not to look away. “I just kind of realized that we’ve known each other for three months, and I still don’t know if you have any pets at home. That’s kind of sad.”

“Well…” he let his voice trail off, finally breaking away from the other boy’s gaze. There was a ray of hope; maybe he could talk his way out of this one. It would only be prolonging the actual thing, but at least when the time came, he would be ready. He leaned his head on the wall and closed his eyes. Images of his house in Los Angeles occupied the usually black space. “I don’t have pets at home.”

“That’s even sadder.”

“We have a garden, though. It looks pretty great.” That was a bit of an understatement. He thought of Seph’s garden, and how the plants and flowers with names that he could neither recognize nor spell lit up the otherwise bleak house. “My stepmother keeps it immaculate. I think you’d like it.”

 _I think you’d like it._ Jesus Christ. He inwardly facepalmed; it almost sounded he wanted Will to come over and see it someday. Perhaps if such a gesture wouldn’t signify emotional attachment, he wouldn’t be so _opposed_ to the idea. Ah, no. He would. The thought of Will awkwardly shaking the hand of his father and Seph’s eyes appraising the blonde like he was an object waiting to be bought and criticized made him shudder. Bringing the two sides of his life together would be like uniting what was light and what was dark; it would not end well.

(And the images in his head disappeared and were replaced as he thought, briefly, of Will’s mop of blond hair, his tan skin and his bright blue eyes. He thought of his own pale complexion, made even paler by the darkness of his hair and his eyes. He thought of how Will was at home under the sun, despite his strange quirk of doing his laundry in the middle of the night. He thought of how he himself was practically nocturnal, and how he thrived in the shadows. This would not end well, too.)

But that wasn’t the part that Will chose to latch onto, thank God. Then again, perhaps it would have been better if it _had_ been. “You have a stepmother?”

“My mother’s dead.”

The room grew heavy with not one realization, but two. Nico swallowed. He suddenly felt cold, and his stomach felt like lead. It had not been his intention to just blurt it out like that—if anything, if he had been in complete control of his faculties, he never would have said anything about it. But the words just came out involuntarily, and he hadn’t been fast enough to stop it.

_Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Nico, you fucking failure._

“I’m sorry.”

Empty words. He’d heard it all; condolences that people didn’t really mean, not in the way that mattered. He didn’t open his eyes, because he didn’t want to see _that look_. It would be in Will’s eyes, that despicable pity that he hated so much.

He didn’t say anything.

When Will spoke again, Nico expected him to change the topic. But instead, he asked, “What was she like?”

_You could have turned this around, but you—_

“I can’t remember,” he admitted, feeling a strange tightness in his chest. _Stop_ , he told himself, but there were words on his tongue and an inexplicable desire to talk. Will had that effect. The one where he made Nico want to do things that he never would have done otherwise.

“I was pretty young when it happened… I probably wouldn’t even be able to remember her face if it weren’t for the pictures, but it’s not the same. But… I know that she was nice, and she always smelled like roses.” It was probably the highest amount of words he had ever said about the topic. He hadn’t actually talked about it—about her—to anyone except Bianca before. Bianca, who looked so much like their mother.Bianca, who was just as gone.Bianca, who left him too.

The thought sobered him up, made him taste bitterness, and he knew that he had to get away, now. But he was _frozen_. “I don’t know anything else.” Nico opened his eyes. “Because there’s no one there to tell me.” No one left.

It was his own voice that did it; the strangled note, desperate and vulnerable. It unfroze his limbs. They felt like jelly, but they would do. His head suddenly hurt, and he felt _sick_. Nauseous. It was eclipsed only by the burning desire to _get out of there, now._

“Excuse me,” he muttered, before slipping off Will’s bed and out the door. He took the elevator back upstairs, and when he realized that he had forgotten his jacket, he was already opening the door that led to his own dorm room. A new, suffocating sort of heaviness weighed down his every step as he crawled across the room and into his bed, and buried his face in the pillow while trying to breathe.

There was no one he could talk to.

If Bianca were alive…

“Goddammit,” he whispered, hating the way his voice sounded so broken. “Why did you leave me?”

-

Nico didn’t see Will Solace for two whole weeks.

Or perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that Nico avoided Will Solace for two whole weeks.

Another bad tendency that he’d developed after losing Bianca, too. It had come with the realization that if he could lose even the person he’d thought he would never lose, then he could lose anyone. At any rate, it was better to leave before you got left behind. It was a shitty coping mechanism, but it had worked, hadn’t it?

He couldn’t believe he had let himself become so careless.

It was a pretty pathetic attempt to console himself, but he tried to convince himself that this was for the best. He had been a moth drawn to flame, and if he had gotten any closer, he would have gotten burned. Will, he resolved, was like the sun. It was a metaphor that fit in more ways than one. He focused on how if you looked directly at the sun, you would get blinded.

Besides, even if he wasn’t avoiding Will, things would probably end the same way. There was no way that the blonde would still want to hang out with him, not with how he’d just freaked out like that. He was just taking measures to ensure the least possible pain.

It would be better for them both this way.

Avoiding Will was not something easily accomplished, especially not when they lived in the same building. So Nico made it a point to go out as much as possible, and only came back when he knew that Will wasn’t going to see him. Really, he’d hung out with Will so much that he was even familiar enough with the other’s schedule to pull off something like this. He saw more of the outside world in two weeks than in the past three months. It was extremely annoying, and he was probably dying of overexposure. His skin had even tanned, for God’s sake. He was starting to regain his natural olive complexion, which irked him way more than it should have.

Then the texts and calls came. His response was to turn off his phone.

Honestly, it was nothing short of a miracle that Will hadn’t managed to corner him yet. Maybe someone up there had finally listened to his prayers. Or maybe—and it actually hurt to think about it, but he couldn’t admit that—Will didn’t care enough to bother looking for him. Goddammit. Why did the thought make him feel so dejected? It was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

Another thing that made him miserable was the realization that Will had been a pretty damn big part of his life. Now that he didn’t see Will anymore, he always seemed to find himself in idle moments; spaces previously filled with the sound of Will’s laugh and the smell of his shampoo.

Nico sighed as he finished a ten thousand word essay that was due next Wednesday and was contemplating the pros and cons of sending it early to his professor when someone knocked on the door. He looked up with a frown, his heart picking up its pace. A glance at the clock told him that Will was supposed to be in class. He couldn’t think of anyone else who would knock on his door. After a few seconds of deliberation, he decided to stay still, hoping that his lack of movement would fool the person on the other side into thinking that he was not there.

“I know you’re in there, Nico.”

So much for deception.

But the voice was gentle and definitely female. Hazel. He felt the tension bleed out of his body, but soon enough it was replaced by a significant amount of guilt; he hadn’t spent much time with Hazel for the past few months. Not since _Will_.

Slowly, he rose from his bed, closing his laptop while at it, and padded across the room. He opened the door. Hazel was dressed in jeans, a very oversized white sweater that he was pretty sure he had never seen her wear before, topped off with a coat and a beige scarf. There were flakes of snow in her hair and two Styrofoam cups and a paper bag in her gloved hands. “Hey. You weren’t answering my texts. I even called you once.”

Hazel disliked calls almost as much as he did. “My phone’s off,” he explained before taking one of the cups and walking back towards his bed. She followed him, making sure to close the door behind her. He observed that she looked right at home in the room, and the sight brought him a sense of comfort.

Nico was glad that he’d decided to clean up his room beforehand. Again, too much free time and not enough things to do to fill it with. It hadn’t been too cluttered, but it usually wasn’t this tidy either. At least now, there were no random papers scattered across his desk and no random clothes littering his floor. “Have you been eating or sleeping?”

He scowled, feeling self-conscious. “Why do you ask?”

She finally decided to settle on his desk chair. Swiveling to face him, she said, “You look like you haven’t. Oh!” She raised the paper bag that he had noticed back at the doorway. “I brought some food. I hope you’re hungry.”

“You’re going to make me eat either way.” He pointed out, feeling his lips curl into a smirk.

He could think of a certain blond health freak who would be just as forceful—perhaps even more—about making him eat, but he shouldn’t be thinking of that person, so he flung the thought away. It took effort.

Grinning back, she handed him the paper bag. He accepted. “You’re right. Take your pick.”

He opened it. Munchkins. Without much hesitation, he dove in and plucked out one of the chocolate ones. It was still warm and it tasted heavenly in his mouth. “Thanksh,” he said as he handed back the paper bag, fully aware that simultaneously talking and chewing distorted his speech.

Hazel took the paper bag and wrinkled her nose before throwing one of her gloves at him. Laughing, he barely managed to avoid it. “Don’t talk when your mouth is full.”

Slowly, they ran out of coffee and donuts. The next hour was spent swapping stories and not talking about anything in particular. It was nice, just sitting there and talking with Hazel. He’d forgotten how easy it was to lose himself in conversation with her.

“I don’t really care what she wants to wear,” Hazel said thoughtfully. “If she wants to wear booty shorts to class, then she can go ahead. But I just don’t get how she feels comfortable in it. Not to mention that it’s like, negative five degrees outside. I wouldn’t wear booty shorts even in my own room.”

The image of Hazel wearing booty shorts flashed unbidden in his mind. It was just too unbelievable and honestly quite disturbing, and his thoughts must have shown on his face because Hazel threw her other glove at him, and it actually ended up hitting him this time. He was laughing again.

“I’m sure,” he said in between chuckles, “that Frank would like to see that.”

 _“Nico!”_ Two dark spots of color appeared high up on her cheeks as she gasped, looking scandalized. Then her eyes flickered around, probably trying to find a suitable thing to chuck at him. Apparently unable to find anything that fit her standards, she sagged against the chair and shot him a dirty look.

“Seriously, though. If he hurts you, please tell me.” He felt a shadow pass over his features, and showed her a purposefully manic grin.

Hazel groaned and covered her face. “Frank’s not that kind of guy. Besides, he and I are just friends.”

“Yeah, sure. And whose sweater is that again?”

If possible, her ears reddened even further. “I couldn’t find my own sweater, so he lent me his,” she mumbled. “I think I lent it to Piper…”

“You’re changing the subject,” he pointed out, feeling more amused than he probably should have. Talking about his sister’s love life was pretty gross, but it was fun, and Hazel and Frank really needed to just admit that they liked each other, or someone would go insane.

“I’m not,” she replied weakly.

Nico grinned. “You should ask him to go on a date with you already. Or at least help him out. At least drop a hint or something. He’s not going to budge without any encouragement.” They both knew this was true. He was pretty sure you didn’t need to know Frank well to recognize that. The guy looked intimidating at first, but Nico realized not long after meeting him that he was really more like a huge teddy bear, and he had a raging crush on Nico’s sister. It was also pretty amusing how he sometimes glanced nervously at Nico, like he was afraid that the latter would eat him or something. “It’s going to give a lot of people relief if you guys finally go out.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Hazel asked, before pausing. “Wait. I take it back. I don’t want to know. We’ve talked way too much about me.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “I’m going to go to the vending machine and when I get back, we are going to talk about you.”

Nico shrugged, feeling an odd sort of nervousness in his stomach. What was there to talk about lately, except the whole thing with Will? Yet another reminder of how much space Will had taken up in his life, and how huge the hole he had left behind was as a result. “There’s not much to talk about.”

“There must be _something_ ,” Hazel insisted before finally standing up and stretching. “Anyway, I’ll be back in a few. Do you want anything?”

“Coke.”

She nodded before plucking her wallet from one of her coat pockets and opening the door, unwittingly revealing Will Solace on the other side.

For a moment—though it felt much longer than one—Nico froze and could do nothing but stare. The Will he knew was always bright and annoyingly chipper, even during the darker times, but the person beyond the doorway, while blonde and blue-eyed, with a spray of freckles across his nose and his cheeks, looked like he hadn’t slept in days, kept awake by a weight on his shoulders.

Guilt. Was that his doing?

Then he shook it away. This would be better for both of them in the long run, and even then, he didn’t know for sure that he was the cause of such newfound gauntness. Maybe it had been a really busy two weeks; surely, Will couldn’t be that concerned about Nico.

He watched as Will’s eyes widened in surprise, powerless as the boy blinked blankly at Hazel before seemingly returning to the present. He watched as the gaze traveled over Hazel’s shoulder and met his own, watched impassively as inside, he was stunned at the sheer amount of _hurt._ Hurt, in those sky blue eyes that now looked like they were on the verge of collapsing into a storm. It knocked the breath out of him. His blood turned cold.

Shit. Shit. Shit. He’d been too caught up in catching up with Hazel that he’d completely forgotten that Will’s classes ended at six PM.

Will coughed, breaking eye contact. Nico watched as he sent them both a smile, carefully avoiding their eyes, apparently having regained his composure. He recognized the smile as false and _wrong._ “I’m sorry if I interrupted something.” His words were entirely too formal. “Uh. I’m going to leave now.” He shot them another tight smile, and then just like that, he was gone again. His presence lingered in the air, in the sudden heaviness that weighed Nico down, in the sudden numbness that bit at his limbs. He didn’t need to look outside to know that the blonde had opted for the stairs. Waiting for the elevator would be too awkward.

There was silence, for a moment. Then, “Who was that?”

Nico hesitated. “Just some guy,” he finally replied, and even he could hear the lie in his voice.

“ _Just_ some guy?” Hazel raised her brows, making it clear that he wasn’t fooling anyone. When Nico didn’t reply, she finally sighed. “I’m going to the vending machine. I’ll be back in five minutes, and when I am, we are going to talk.” Her words were firm, but her tone was gentle. It managed to put him at ease enough to nod. He was dreading it, but when Hazel got like this, there was nothing that could stop her.

Nico ended up telling her everything.

Hazel was a good listener. She didn’t interrupt, not even once, as he told her his side of the story in between gulps of Coke that tasted like bitterness and regret. He wasn’t sure which one of them was even more surprised at his honesty. As he spoke, he realized that he hadn’t even breathed a word to Hazel and Nico about each other. Two of the most important people in his life right now—yes, he was finally admitting that Will was a part of that group—didn’t even know each other. It made him feel worse.

God. He was a bad person, wasn’t he?

“So, yeah.” He shrugged. “That’s it.”

“You’re an idiot.” She looked at him with a mixture of sadness, sympathy and what could only be described as fond exasperation. He hated it, but oddly, it filled with a certain sense of comfort.

“Believe me, I’m aware of that.”

“I’m not an expert when it comes to things like this. I can’t help you with this if you’re not willing to help yourself out. You and Will are on your own.” She shrugged helplessly. “But I hope you’re planning to fix things soon.”

He hadn’t been going to, but then the look in Will’s eyes flashed in his mind. He let himself wonder if, maybe, he should do it. He didn’t reply. Hazel sighed.

She glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late. I have to go back. It was nice to catch up with you, even if I do have half a mind to strangle you right now.” Then her eyes softened, and she placed a hand over his. “Seriously, Nico. Think about it.”

He looked at their hands, and at Hazel, suddenly feeling heavy and light at the same time. Talking about it turned out to be better than expected. He met her eyes, hoping that he could convey appreciation that he could never express with words using his gaze. Affection swelled in his heart. Hazel would never be Bianca, but that was fine, because she was Hazel and they were two different people. He hoped she realized that now. It had always been a point of insecurity for her, and if Nico knew her, some part of her was probably thinking that Bianca would probably be able to convince him or something. He made sure to squeeze her hand.

“I will. Thanks.”

She nodded and stood up. “Oh, and Nico?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe you should take your own advice.” She smiled. “And please, get some sleep.”

Then the door was closed, and she was gone. Nico was left blinking in confusion.

 _Advice?_ Did she mean…? Oh God, no, did she think that Nico wanted to ask Will out?

Nico groaned.

The next morning, he made up his choice. He’d tossed and turned all night, replaying Hazel’s words in his mind.

_Think about it._

And he did. He thought about it. He thought about the look in Will’s eyes yesterday, so full of hurt that it made Nico hurt, too. He thought about how he missed his usual laundry schedule and their easy banter. He thought about Will’s smile and Will’s laugh, and how he missed Will.

He missed Will. God. He really missed Will, and he was the stupidest person ever.

He couldn’t believe he’d almost gone and given that up, and for something as stupid as his own insecurities, without even trying to hear Will out or talk about it. He’d been so blinded by himself and his own problems that he’d forgotten to consider what Will must have felt at suddenly being ignored. The urge to apologize became so immense that he found himself putting on a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants to head out at nine in the morning.

Normally, he wouldn’t even consider going out at this hour. There was a reason why he only had afternoon and evening classes. But these were special circumstances; he hadn’t even been able to sleep in the first place (he was lucky that winter break officially started today and there was no class, or else he would be dead) and Will was one of those crazy morning people who actually enjoyed waking up at the crack of dawn. He probably woke up three hours ago. Nico wondered if he would have gone upstairs and knocked on Nico’s door if the thing yesterday hadn’t happened.

He chose not to dwell on it. It didn’t make a difference now that Nico was the one who was planning to knock on Will’s door.

When he arrived outside Will’s room, he was feeling surprisingly light and determined. He stopped for a moment to take a deep breath and try to settle his nerves, realizing in that moment that he had no battle plan. All he knew was that he wanted to apologize, and probably explain himself because Will deserved at least that. The words flew around in his mind, but he didn’t have the energy to try and string them into an understandable sequence. He just hoped that when it was time, he would be able to get his message across.

 _Here goes nothing._ Nico knocked.

A few shuffling noises, and then the door opened. Will’s roommate blinked blearily at him. Jake Mason. Upon recognizing Nico, he said cautiously, “Hi.”

He coughed, losing most of his earlier bravado. Fuck, he was pathetic. He suddenly felt naked, like all his intentions were laid bare for the other guy to see. “Hi. Is Will there?”

He met Jake’s eyes. They were full of _pity_ , and he felt his heart sink to the soles of his feet. “I’m sorry, man. You just missed him. He’s gone to visit his dad for Christmas.”

Oh, God. How could he have been so stupid? He’d forgotten to consider the chance that Will would be one of the students who would leave today to visit their families. Nico never went home for Christmas, so the possibility had slipped out of his mind. Will would have told him about it. Will would have, if Nico hadn’t avoided him.

Nico made it to halfway up the flight of stairs before he had to lean on the wall and bury his face in his hands.

Why did he always have to screw everything up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is proving just as difficult to write but I'm finished with the draft and I'm pretty excited for it tbh


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